Constantinople (Not Istanbul)
by Kirishtu
Summary: Wandering through the streets of an unfamiliar city, Ezio Auditore catches glimpses of a ghost not from his past, but from his future. Inspired by the song by They Might Be Giants.


Originally posted on aff 2011-10-02

**Constantinople (not Istanbul)**

Ezio Auditore da Firenze leaned against the warm stone wall of the building he'd just exited, looking up at the spires of Constantinople. Unbidden came the amusing thought that had been teasing him for some time now – that tiny little voice that said Constantinople was now Istanbul. It made Ezio smile, though he didn't know why. It had been a long time since he'd had any reason to smile. Leonardo was gone, and Ezio had struck out on his own to live in his own solitude since Leonardo had passed away.

His thoughts turned to the letter he still carried, the parchment worn and the ink almost faded from constant handling. Leonardo's last letter to him, the one that took him away from Roma and the Brotherhood and all things that had to do with the war between Assassins and Templars, and brought him to France where he spent his time sitting next to the bedside of his lover, watching the older man slowly give in to pain and the embrace of Death. Salai had hovered nearby, his face red from crying, but he hadn't intruded on their privacy. Ezio stayed long enough to make sure Leonardo's affairs would be in order, his will carried out, that Salai would be well cared for, and then he vanished into the darkness once Leonardo had finally fallen asleep – and didn't wake.

Ezio closed his eyes and remembered Leonardo's final words to him, that he wasn't alone even though he felt like it, that there were people who cared for him. _Don't shut yourself away, Ezio, amore. _ Leonardo whispered to the greying man sitting beside him, clutching his hand. _Don't close your heart._

It was after Leonardo had passed, and when Ezio had returned to Roma, that he found Polo's journals accounting his ancestor Altair's story, and what the man had left behind for his descendants to find. Ezio decided to take up the quest, alone, against the better judgment he felt in his heart and the voices of his sister and Machiavelli. His desire to be alone had over-ridden common sense, but Ezio was fine with that. He knew he wasn't as young as he used to be, but he still was an Assassin. While he was still whole and healthy enough to move as agilely as he'd done when he was seventeen, Ezio refused to ask for help beyond sending his apprentices on missions he himself couldn't attend to and to aid when the numbers he faced were far beyond what he knew he could handle himself. Which was why he'd made a point to meet with the Assassin's Bureau here in Constantinople while he followed the bread crumbs left by his ancestor.

_Istanbul,_ whispered that ephemeral voice, sounding both confident and unsure at the same time, _not Constantinople._

Out of the corner of his eye, Ezio caught the there-and-gone flash of a young man wearing white. Each time he tried to catch a more solid glimpse, the specter simply vanished. Ezio had stopped trying, and the specter seemed to stay in sight longer if Ezio didn't move his head to try and follow the ghost's movements. And he knew it was a ghost, or a spirit, or some other ephemeral creature, because the young man didn't set off the feeling of danger Ezio had developed over the long years. His instincts told him that this youth, whoever and whatever he was, didn't mean him any harm.

Ezio pushed off the wall and began to walk through the streets of Constantinople (_Istanbul,_ said the voice. Ezio was beginning to believe the voice belonged to his spectral visitor) catching more glimpses of the young man in white as he went. As dusk fell over the city, Ezio started to make his way back to the docks, where he knew of a safe place to rest. The empty shack belonged to Constantinople's sect of the Assassin Brotherhood, so it was as safe and secure as a building could get. Ezio nodded to the pair of men sitting at the mouth of the alley he had to walk down to get to the shack. They nodded back and subtlety saluted the Master Assassin, then returned to throwing the dice, the younger Assassin pair ever watchful for uninvited guests.

They didn't see the spectral young man as he glided after Ezio, and Ezio hadn't expected them to. Perhaps he was going insane after all. He kept in contact with Niccolo and Claudia as much as he could, but letters did nothing to ease the pain of the emptiness he felt inside, nor the desire to hear voices out loud instead of in his head.

Within his small hideaway, Ezio removed his hood and lit a few candles. His fingers brushed over the pages of Polo's journal, which he'd begun reading again during his bouts of insomnia. He wondered if this was how Altair had felt, when he'd lost Maria, Malik, his son. He knew the empty feeling would eventually go away, and yet…

Ezio felt the presence behind him and spun, his hidden blade poised to slice a throat. Instead, he froze.

And stared into honey-coloured eyes that were so much like his own when he'd been but a boy himself.

"It's Istanbul now, you know," said the young man in an oddly hollow voice, as if he were here and yet miles away. His gaze wandered around the room, everywhere but Ezio. "They changed its name."

Ezio decided he'd finally snapped. _Leonardo, mi amore, why did you leave me alone?_ But he took a breath and asked, "Why'd they change it?"

"Nobody's business but the Turks," replied the spectral young man with a hint of a grin. He looked at Ezio at last and the grin became a hollow smile. "I don't know. Shaun would know. If I could ask him, I'm sure he'd tell me, after calling me a stupid git. He does that."

Ezio slowly sank into the chair behind him. Took a breath. Let it out. "Why do you call Constantinople Istanbul if you don't know why it was changed, hm?"

"Because it's always been called Istanbul in the century I was born in."

Ezio stilled. "Who _are_ you?"

The specter's eyes traveled over Ezio's face. He vanished from sight. Reappeared closer to the small bed that Ezio used once or twice when exhaustion overrode insomnia. "It depends on what path I'm following, usually. You, for the most part. Altair. Both, sometimes at the same time." His hand went to his face and touched the scar at his mouth. Ezio found himself doing the same, then he pulled his hand away and returned his gaze to the young man. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then started as if he remembered the question he was supposed to be answering. "Desmond. That's my name. Desmond Miles."

"Desmond," Ezio repeated. A flood of memories, of feelings, came rushing back to the Master Assassin. Minerva's speech in the Apple chamber, the feeling that someone was always watching him, that maybe he wasn't entirely in control of his own actions. "You're the one Minerva spoke of."

Desmond flickered, then solidified enough that Ezio could no longer see through him. His fists clenched, his honey gaze went to the floor. Ezio saw true anger and hatred in Desmond's expression, and he wondered what had happened to Desmond to make him feel so strongly about the long-dead goddess. "Yeah, Minerva. That bitch. She's the reason I'm like this."

Ezio frowned. "Like what?"

"We were never supposed to meet, you know." Desmond said, slowly pacing around in a circle. "But I can't wake up, no matter how hard I try. So I follow different paths, hoping they'll lead me out. But I think I'm just getting deeper, especially when I follow the trails Sixteen left for me. And now, Christ, you can _see_ me. It's not a puppeteering thing anymore – you can actually _see_ me."

Ezio's frown grew deeper, more concerned. "I can also no longer see _through_ you."

Desmond looked down at himself. His body language altered a little, as though he were disappointed. "It happens, sometimes. Usually, I'm by myself, somewhere. But only you and Altair can see me. Or at least, I'm pretty sure only you can see me."

Ezio barked a little in laughter. "So I'm insane, then?"

"Simply by being you, you're insane. I mean, who climbs the Coliseum in Rome and willingly jumps off?"

Ezio couldn't help that second laugh bubbling up. Even Desmond seemed to have cause to smile at the memory they obviously shared. When Ezio sobered, he met Desmond's honey eyes with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Is there anything I could do to help you?"

"Altair asked the same question," Desmond replied, no longer smiling. "Unless you know how to break me out of a coma and a machine that's hooked into my neural pathways, not really." The young man finally sat on Ezio's bed and pressed his hands to his face. "I can hear them calling to me. My friends. And I can't answer, no matter how hard I try."

"Because you're here." Ezio reasoned. He moved closer to Desmond, finally sat beside him and clasped his hands between his knees. "I know what that's like."

"I know you know. I lived – am living – your life." Desmond faded for a moment, then returned. Ezio could feel the heat pouring from Desmond's body. "You're my ancestor, after all."

Ezio wasn't sure what Desmond meant, but he could put two and two together. All the times he felt as though his actions weren't his own, that someone was watching him when he was sure he was alone, it all had to be Desmond. "You're burning up."

"Happens. Usually means, I think, someone on the outside is trying to reach me. Or taking care of my body. I haven't figured it out yet."

"A friend, maybe?"

Desmond hesitated just long enough for a smile to spread over Ezio's face. Finally, Desmond answered, "I don't know."

Silence grew between them. Ezio placed a hand on Desmond's shoulder. It felt solid, real. Desmond shivered. Ezio smiled. "So tell me about the future."

Desmond glanced at him. "You know I can't. Might change history."

"As if the Apple hasn't already done that."

"You haven't touched the Apple since you sealed it under the Coliseum." Desmond responded sharply. Ezio gave his descendant a sharper smile. Desmond eyed Ezio for a moment. "I can tell you Leonardo is famous in my time. Most, if not all, of his inventions became reality. His paintings are in museums, and he inspired one of the greatest conspiracy phenomenons."

Ezio's sharp smile softened. "I knew it," he said softly. "I'm not sure how he'd take that."

"Probably as well as Shaun when Rebecca nearly fried the power cable." Desmond muttered, clearly not intending for Ezio to have heard him.

"Is Rebecca your girlfriend?" Ezio asked with a grin.

"No. Shaun."

Ezio blinked. "Shaun is a strange name for a girl."

"She is a he, and he's British, so yeah."

"British?"

"English."

Ezio chuckled. "Makes sense. Seems to run in our family, doesn't it? Having a male lover, not the English part."

Desmond eyed him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, well." His eyes grew distant. "I miss him." He whispered.

Desmond didn't resist when Ezio pulled him closer. Ezio sighed as he felt Desmond's skin brush his own. "You'll find a way back. And I suppose I'll miss seeing you out of the corner of my eye as I travel Constantinople." Ezio snorted. "Or Istanbul."

Desmond laughed quietly. His body became heavy against Ezio's. The older Assassin shifted just enough to so he could look into Desmond's eyes. Desmond immediately jerked back. "No."

Ezio's lips twitched. "I didn't even say anything."

"I know you. I've _been_ you." Desmond snapped.

Ezio's hand rested on Desmond's thigh. Desmond slapped it away. Ezio remained frozen for only a moment, then lunged at Desmond, knowing full well Desmond could vanish if he wanted to. But flesh encountered solid flesh and Ezio was soon the victory in the wrestling match that ensued. He pinned Desmond's hands with one of his own and settled between his descendant's legs, so close their hips were a knife's edge away from actually touching. Desmond's honey-coloured eyes flared as he found himself trapped with Ezio hovering above him.

"Don't," Desmond snarled. Ezio was almost taken back by the threatening sound.

"Do you think you'd betray Shaun if you did?" Ezio asked.

Desmond bared his teeth in a feral snarl. Unafraid, Ezio pressed his lips to Desmond's. It took a long while before Desmond responded, but there was reluctance. When Ezio pulled back, he found he could see through Desmond once more. Even Desmond looked like he'd rather stay than go to wherever he was being pulled.

"Will you be back?" Ezio asked.

Desmond, half faded, shrugged. "We'll see."

A minute later, Ezio rolled onto his back and sighed at the feel of Desmond's lingering warmth. Within a few hours, Ezio found himself prowling the streets of Constantinople again, watching people, studying. He let out a deep sigh and smiled.

"It's Istanbul, not Constantinople," he told himself.

The next day, as Ezio was heading out, he caught a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye, and heard Desmond's ephemeral voice echo back to him, "Who really cares what it's called now?"


End file.
